


the things that get caught in the valves of his heart

by ghostpot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Best Friends, Getting Together, M/M, character study adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostpot/pseuds/ghostpot
Summary: Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 32
Kudos: 364
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics, Recommended KuroKen Fics





	the things that get caught in the valves of his heart

**Author's Note:**

> so it's been a while (staind, 2001) but in an attempt to remember how to write i threw this together and ended up liking a few aspects of it. 
> 
> this program is made possible by betas like [chi,](https://twitter.com/got2ghost) so thank you!

Kenma will be the first to tell you that Kuroo’s an idiot.

He puts his shirts on inside out most days. Their school and team uniforms are easy enough to get a grasp on; The hems of his button-downs face in, the blocky number 1 on his jersey faces out. It’s the practice gear that gets him, or the plain shirts he wears out in public. It’s been about 2 months since Lev and Inuoka have stopped asking about it, 14 months since Yaku has stopped nagging him for it, and 6 years since Kenma has stopped pointing it out. Kuroo, who has no shame and cannot possibly be wrong about anything ever, has had the same response almost every time.

“It’s on purpose,” he says, “My neck is sensitive, the tags get itchy.”

It’s a lie. Kenma has bitten his neck several times in the past for varying reasons (to wake him up, to express displeasure over his new cologne, to tell him he’s hungry, etc., etc.). The biggest response he’s ever gotten is a raised eyebrow or red ears. It can’t be intentional, either. He’s seen Kuroo stop himself from walking out of his house as he passes by the mirror in the entryway, shouting a flustered “ _Fuck!”_ before rushing back to his room and returning with his shirt correctly oriented.

Kenma assumes this whole ordeal occurs because Kuroo is shit at doing laundry. He pulls off his shirts from the hem before flinging them into his basket like a slingshot, then never bothers to shake them _right side_ out before folding them. Or, more accurately, before shoving them unceremoniously into his dresser like an animal.

He frequently forgets about whatever he has boiling on the stove, especially eggs. Every single time, Kuroo thinks he can get away with starting something else while he waits for the food to boil. Every single time, he gets distracted. It’s only until he hears the sound of water fizzing against the heat of the element, or smells something burning, or far too much time has passed before he remembers _oh, SHIT, the stove!_ and drops everything in an attempt to salvage the culinary disaster.

There are no independent remedies that have ever been found to be 100% successful. Timers set on the microwave or his phone only serve to confuse him, or he doesn’t hear them go off altogether. Once, in an attempt to cure himself of this shortcoming, he did nothing but stare at the pot for the duration it needed to be boiled. In doing so, he lost track of time completely and still ended up overcooking the ramen. The only surefire way for him to remember to turn off the stove is to have someone there to remind him.

Both the Kuroos _and_ the Kozumes have banned him from making boiled eggs for them. His always turn out dry and crumbly.

He also cannot operate a lawnmower for the life of him. It’s practically a phenomenon. Kuroo can recite the molecular makeup of every element by number, but can’t cut grass. One summer, Kenma had gone with him to his grandparent’s farm on his mother’s side. When his grandfather asked if they wanted to use the big John Deere on the field. Kuroo just laughed before patting Kenma’s shoulder and walking away.

(It wasn’t as fun as Dead Rising 3 painted it to be.)

And God, do not get Kenma started on the things Kuroo has done when Bokuto’s around. There was the Soap Incident, the Persimmon Incident, the Hay Incident, and the Incident with the Stairs. Those were all in only one week.

So yeah, Kuroo’s a bit of an idiot, but he isn’t _stupid_.

Kenma will be the first to tell you this, as well. He’s told several people, actually. Inuoka, Tsukishima, Shouyou, and Akaashi come to mind, but he’s sure he’s told most people who aren’t Yaku or Bokuto. Yaku is the only person who’s allowed to call Kuroo ‘stupid’, and Bokuto genuinely thinks Kuroo is one of the smartest people alive.

He’s incredibly academically inclined, almost innately so. He’s consistently at the top of his class and is more concerned about which universities he’ll _want_ to go to than which will accept him. Harkening back to the whole ‘reciting molecular makeup’ thing, Kuroo's been able to do that since he was 11. Before chemistry at that level was even taught to him in class, he would read Kenma’s mom’s old textbooks while Kenma worked his way through single-player games.

“It’s just so _interesting_ , Kenma,” Kuroo would declare, apropos nothing. “It’s like reading a book about yourself, but without all the dumb feelings and stuff. Like, did you know—” Then Kenma would stop listening because he was 10, and Shadow of the Colossus was so much more interesting.

At 17, Shadow of the Colossus is still so much more interesting, but Kenma is more thankful that his best friend is a nerd. He’s never performed poorly on a quiz or on his exams, all thanks to Kuroo’s penchant for believing studying is a fun and cool thing for teen boys to do.

“Am I not a fun, cool teen boy, Kenma?” Kuroo asks in the middle of an evening Japanese Lit cram session.

Kenma shakes his head without looking up from Kuroo’s notes. “You’re more like a boring, lame old man.”

“Could an old man do _this_ ,” Kuroo says, then tackles Kenma to the floor before he has a chance to react.

He’s got the bodily-kinesthetic intelligence down, too, strong with quick reflexes that make him such a solid middle blocker. He’s spent years and years dedicating himself to training and conditioning, to knowing exactly how to move his body in the way that he wants, sometimes before he even knows what it is he wants. His instinct for movement is developed and honed. Recently, he’s even taken up both boxing and yoga at Daichi and Bokuto’s respective suggestions. _To cover all my bases_ , he claims _._ So, what the fuck, really.

They never roughhoused as kids, seeing as Kenma has never been, is not, and will never be the physical sort, so he’s at even more of a disadvantage trying to dodge Kuroo’s sneak attacks or struggle out of his grasp. Kuroo pins his wrists and knees with ease, always swiping the upper hand away from him almost immediately after Kenma thinks he has it.

“How are your deteriorating bones achieving this, grandpa?” Kenma huffs, wriggling underneath his best friend. “You can’t even drink milk.”

“Reinforced soy milk and leafy greens,” Kuroo answers. He forces both Kenma’s wrists down with one hand as he leans over the table to grab one of his fancy pens. “Now tell me what the other essential nutrient for strong bones is, or I’ll draw a penis on your face.”

“Vitamin D,” Kenma mumbles. He's unable to fathom how Kuroo can combat his struggling at full strength with only one arm. How do both his wrists fit in one of Kuroo's hands in the first place?

“Good,” Kuroo praises, then grins wickedly. “Now, say ‘uncle.’”

Kuroo has exceptional interpersonal skills, has had them since he was young. It’s easy for him to read people. Given more time with them, he’s able to dissect their personalities and the way they think. This was in part why he and Kenma got on so well even when Kuroo started to break out of his shell more when they were kids. Despite being more talkative, he was always able to tell exactly how much socialization Kenma was willing to offer at any given time.

It’s part of what makes him such a good friend and such a great leader. He’s able to pick up on moods and adapt his behaviour to them, or pinpoint insecurities and figure out the best way to tackle them. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he always does so, though. More often than not, he decides to use these powers for evil.

He knows Kenma will not say ‘uncle’, because he knows Kenma’s stubborn as an ox. This is, perhaps, a bad example, considering Kuroo has known Kenma longer than Kuroo hasn’t known Kenma. Still, it’s happened many times outside of him. Karasuno, for example. He was able to get a general read on Daichi’s whole deal within 15 seconds of meeting him and managed to piss Tsukishima off in a record-breaking 3 minutes.

And he derives such great pleasure from these things too, the absolute bastard.

The pen gets dangerously close to Kenma’s face, green tip hovering over his cheek.

“I answered the question,” Kenma says. He finally squirms enough to be able to free one hand with which he tries to grab at the pen. “I refuse to be marred by a colour that shouldn’t even be used for literature class.”

“We’ve been over this, green is not a science colour just because Trivial Pursuit says it is.” Kuroo swings his legs around to cage in Kenma's arms without ever moving from sitting atop his chest. “Stop struggling. For bringing this up again you deserve a dick drawn on you.”

He squishes Kenma’s face between his hands. Kenma is not flexible enough to kick him in the back of the head.

“Don’t you dare. What will my mom think?”

“She’ll think, ‘Poor little Penis-Face Kozume, what a terrible fate he’s wrought upon himself. If only my son was kinder, handsomer, maybe six-one and captain of a very specific volleyball team.’”

Kenma clenches his fists hard to keep himself from laughing. He feels the tip of the pen touch his cheek and start moving. There is a facade he’s meant to maintain here, he can’t possibly break it.

Kuroo, as Kuroo does, sees right through him. Kenma’s beginning to suspect that he keeps a catalogue of every face he’s ever made, with special subsections that detail microexpressions. He only felt his lip twitch ever so slightly but Kuroo breaks into a full grin upon seeing it anyway. With this newfound knowledge that Kenma isn’t exactly as upset about this as he’s letting on, the strokes Kuroo makes with the pen are more confident.

It takes him about as long as Kenma would expect for one to draw a dick. When Kuroo finishes, he caps the pen and blows gently on Kenma’s cheek to dry the ink faster. His breath smells of the cinnamon gum he was chewing earlier. Their faces are very close together. It’s kind of nice, Kenma thinks. Kuroo is handsome, Kenma thinks.

Kuroo locks eyes with Kenma as the thought replays in his head. Kuroo goes completely stiff for an entire second before he shoves himself off Kenma. In his hurry, he nearly hurls himself into the low desk in his room. He seats himself back where he was previously set up, smoothing out his shirt ( _unturned!_ ) and busying himself with his notebook. Not once does he look back at Kenma’s face.

Kenma watches him curiously. It’s definitely strange behaviour, but he wouldn’t consider it out of character. See, Kuroo’s odd quirks aside, there’s one kind of intelligence that he regularly and repeatedly shows ineptitude towards. Kuroo Tetsurou is smart, athletic, and good with people, but he is _abysmal_ at handling his own feelings.

Things that are soft and squishy, or things that are rocky and tumultuous, all get lost in translation. Instead of properly processing any sudden extreme emotions, his body reacts before he does and he sputters, flubs, and frets his way through a response. It’s like the abrupt release of certain chemicals in his brain causes him to physically overload. He short-circuits until word fragments fly out of his mouth like sparks, and he’s too twitchy to get too close to.

Kenma’s seen it happen many, many times before. Any time Kuroo gets a confession, rather than concisely and politely saying ‘Thank you, but no,’ or ‘Yes, I like you too, he goes on nonsensical tangents about things like the compatibility of a fish and a bird for long enough that the girl stops liking him then and there. In the rare, accidental mishap that he’s received a bad grade, he prattles entire monologues about his disbelief without actually finishing a single sentence, waving his paper in the air all the while. Most recently, in response to Kenma thanking him for getting him into volleyball, he fell into a stuttering loop of, “Stop, wait, stop, hold on you idiot, stop, wait, stop.”

So Kuroo’s behaviour in and of itself isn’t particularly odd, but Kenma would be willing to say that it was uncalled for. It’s not like they’ve never been that close. They’ve been glued to each other’s sides for 10 years now. They sleep in the same bed at least twice a week. That morning alone Kenma had woken up to find Kuroo’s head nuzzling into his chest.

“Kuro,” Kenma says, still watching his best friend closely.

Kuroo makes a noise in response that Kenma thinks is supposed to be a hum. It sounds more like a moose tumbling down a hill. Kuroo cringes at himself, but he continues to pretend to be reading about the different appeals to ethics.

“You didn’t draw a dick, did you?”

At this, Kuroo finally looks up, bewilderment clear on his face. “Wh— How?! It’s been two minutes! You couldn’t have— Kenma—”

“You would’ve taken a photo and sent it to Bokuto by now.”

Kuroo halts his rambling. He throws his head back with a groan, bracing his arms against the floor to hold himself up. “I hate when you’re right,” he whines, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m always right.”

“And I’m always full of hate,” Kuroo bites back. His head lolls on his shoulders so he can glare at Kenma.

Kenma doesn’t bother smothering his smile at his best friend’s petulance. He pushes himself back up and into a sitting position, running his fingers through his hair a few times to tame it into place. Watching the movement, Kuroo squints his eyes further and his jaw tenses.

Kenma is beginning to sense a pattern.

To prove his hypothesis, he very casually twists one strand of hair around his forefinger several times. It could even read as a mindless action if it was something he’d ever done before this moment.

“The—” Kuroo starts, then closes his mouth so hard Kenma can hear his teeth snap shut. He tears his gaze away, but Kenma doesn’t miss the way his fingers twitch against the floor.

Hypothesis proven.

“Kuro,” Kenma says, “I’m going to ask you a question, and you aren’t going to freak out.”

“Too late,” Kuroo mutters.

Kenma takes a moment to consider his next move. And maybe to watch Kuroo squirm a little bit, as payback.

Kenma is both more and less smart than Kuroo because intelligence is not a straightforward thing. Kuroo gets better grades and in general knows more about most subjects, but Kenma is leagues better at recognizing patterns and solving problems. Kuroo can charm his way through any conversation or push all the wrong buttons for the fun of it, but Kenma is both faster and more accurate at analyzing and picking apart a person’s behaviours. In terms of physicality, Kuroo has him completely beat, but between the two of them, it’s Kenma who has all the intrapersonal skills.

He’s able to make sense of his thoughts and feelings enough for them to be categorized and compared, and he does it quite easily too. He is aware of his strengths and weaknesses, of his needs versus his wants, of the disparity between his self-esteem and self-confidence.

It’s why Kenma knows, with no uncertainty, that he has feelings for his best friend. It’s why he’s comfortable with the knowledge, settling into it easily like it’s just another part of him rather than ignoring it until it comes to a painful head. He’s never said anything because he worries about all the things that could go wrong, but as he watches Kuroo in front of him, ears flushed red and leg shaking with nervous energy, he wonders if it’s okay to give in to that small, selfish part of his brain that sees Kuroo and thinks, _mine!_

So, before Kenma has a chance to second guess himself, he asks, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Kuroo, as expected, freaks out. The flush spreads to his cheeks and he flounders for words, making confused, guttural noises in the space between as he rapidly shakes his head. When his grasp on language eventually returns, he says, “I— Kenma, you know what they say. I mean, when a bird’s worth two in a bush, and you judge a fish in a tree, where would they even find love, right? And a home, in this economy? Unlikely.”

“I told you not to freak out.”

Kuroo throws his hands in the air as if to say, _well, look how that went!_

“I’m not a bird. You’re not a fish. We live right across from each other,” Kenma says calmly. Kuroo reacts to each statement like he’s being stabbed. “You can say no,” he finishes, quieter this time, more hesitant.

It isn’t just tonight’s events that have lead Kenma to believe his feelings may be returned. There is the fact that Kuroo lends him his shirts and sweaters without ever asking for them back. The fact that Kuroo always lets him have the window seat on long bus rides. The fact that sometimes when he looks at Kuroo, he finds Kuroo already looking at him. Tonight has just given him confidence, Kuroo’s behaviour is solid evidence that Kenma must make him feel _something_ strongly enough to warrant such panic.

Of course, he could always just be wrong. Kenma can recognize patterns and analyze mannerisms all he wants, but he isn’t omniscient.

Kuroo falls back against the floor and lays so still Kenma becomes concerned he may have shorted out for real. He extends his leg and pokes Kuroo’s calf with his toe.

Kuroo takes a deep breath and covers his face with his hands before saying, “I have _so many_ feelings for you.”

Ah, Kenma forgot. He’s always right.

“You’re just so pretty, and I’m so mad about— Guys are supposed to be hot, aren’t they? Not that you aren’t, I mean, just that you— Eyes? And. Face. God, this confession _sucks—_ ” Kuroo babbles into his palms.

Kenma snorts. Kuroo parts his fingers slightly to peer at him through the gaps.

“Are you laughing at me? In this, my time of duress?”

“A little, yeah.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Kuroo says, dropping his arms down at his sides. He’s smiling.

“You like me, though. My eyes. And. Face,” Kenma mimics.

“Never said anything about your terrible, terrible personality.”

Kenma nudges Kuroo’s leg with his foot again. “I like you, too.”

Kuroo makes a sound between a cuss and a deflating balloon. “You can’t just— I _know_ , but Kenma, tact is really important—”

While Kuroo continues to spit excerpts of a cohesive thought, Kenma moves to lay down next to him, only a couple feet apart. He supposes he can’t be surprised that Kuroo said he knew. He’s good at reading people, especially people he’s close to, and there’s no one closer to him than Kenma. 

Kenma watches him as he talks, going on and on about the history of etiquette, gesturing with his hands all the while. A familiar sensation settles over him, one he’s gotten so used to associating with his fondness for his best friend. It’s something akin to the feeling you get sitting in front of a bonfire after the sun has long set. Heat prickles the front of his face and he doesn’t think he can look away.

Staring at the side of Kuroo’s head, a thought strikes him. “What did you draw on my face?”

“Eh?” Kuroo’s arms freeze in the air. He gives Kenma a sidelong glance. “None of your business.”

“Kuro.”

“Kyanma.”

“Kuro.”

“Kyanma.”

“ _Kuro_.”

“Fine,” Kuroo relents. He reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, grumbling under his breath as he taps at the screen a few times to pull up the front camera. He points it at Kenma.

On his cheek is not a phallus of any sort. Instead, it’s a green heart, fat and lopsided with an arrow running through it. Kenma grabs the phone out of Kuroo’s hand to inspect it further. He even drew fletchings and the little puncture lines.

It makes sense now, why he reacted the way he did. Kuroo, emotional disaster extraordinaire, pulled back and saw the whole picture—this cute little heart he’d put on Kenma’s cheek as a joke, this unintentional physical representation of his feelings glaring back at him—and predictably, panicked.

“Ha.” Kenma grins. “You _really_ like me.”

“Terrible!” Kuroo cries, snatching his phone back and rolling onto his stomach to glare at Kenma. “Terrible personality. The worst. Just the pits. Han Solo, but without the character development or redeeming traits. Like a really shitty Kabuto. Simon— No, Trevor Belmont. I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Are you?” Kenma taunts, lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

“Yes. No. Yes? Wait. Hold on, can I kiss you?”

Kenma can practically see the gears smoking in Kuroo’s head. He nods in an attempt to put him out of his misery.

“Cool. Okay, cool. Uh,” Kuroo splutters. He stares at Kenma like he’s a sudoku puzzle with only 3 square cells in. He takes a deep breath. When he exhales, he moves from laying on his stomach to hovering slightly over Kenma in one fluid motion. He continues to hold that plank-like position, very clearly trying to work up the courage to lean down.

Kuroo’s eyes keep flickering across Kenma’s features. Eyes, nose, cheeks, lips, cheeks, nose, eyes. It could go on forever, so Kenma screws his eyes shut and leans up instead. The kiss is over in a second, more of a peck than anything else. He has no basis to definitively conclude whether it’s good or bad, but it feels nice. It’s probably something he’d do again, maybe a lot.

A beat of silence passes between them as they stare at each other. Kuroo looks just as perplexed as he did before the kiss, if not more. Kenma waits patiently for it to catch up to him.

“Eh?” Kuroo says, finally. Then, as the realization sinks deeper, “ _EH?!_ ”

His arms start to shake, though Kenma doubts it has anything to do with strain on his muscles. Before Kuroo collapses on top of him, Kenma sits up. The movement forces Kuroo to readjust as well, and he pushes himself upright onto his knees.

“You asked,” Kenma says with a shrug. Kuroo gapes at him.

“Yeah, but I— What about the— _Kenma_ ,” he stammers, exasperated. Abruptly, he snaps his mouth shut and clears his throat. “We should get back to studying.”

Kenma stifles a laugh. “So we’re just moving on?”

“Shh,” Kuroo hushes him, wagging a finger in front of his face. “I’m processing. Where were we? Analyzing pathos?”

Kenma nods, reluctantly dragging himself back to the desk where his notes are neatly organized in shades of purple. He sits no closer to Kuroo than he was earlier, giving him the space he needs to compose himself. The irony of listening to his best friend break down the strategies of appealing to emotion is not lost on him.

Kuroo handles his feelings with the grace and finesse of a bull in a china shop. He bucks and bellows and bumps shelf after shelf in an attempt to escape. It isn’t his fault, though. He wasn’t built for delicate situations, narrow spaces. He’s smart, coordinated, methodical in his every move. Kenma knows that he’ll figure out how to navigate the aisles and find his way out eventually.

In the meantime, Kenma will wait for him, an ugly green heart on his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> i rewrote that ending like 7 times and am still not super satisfied with it but the rest is okay, i think?
> 
> i have many wips begging to be finished so i promise more fics are coming, ideally some that are better than this,,,
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](https://ghostpot.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/ghostpot_) if you want to say hi.


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